


And Touch Me Like You Never

by lforevermore



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: AU - GTA, Begging, Glove Kink, Hair Pulling, M/M, Rough Sex, this is actually surprisingly tame for me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 12:21:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9548822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lforevermore/pseuds/lforevermore
Summary: Usually, Ryan leaves work at work. Today, Ryan brings the Vagabond home with him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at inmywildernesswriting.tumblr.com

Jon shifted, coming awake slowly, the chill of the November night dragging him more into wakefulness than he’d like. The bed beside him is cold, meaning that Ryan has gone somewhere – he’s either been called away by work or by Geoff, and Jon feels a stab of bitterness that he quickly tamps down.

He feels like someone is watching him.

Jon blinks his eyes open, scans the dark room before him. His hand goes to Ryan’s pillow and wraps around the gun there as he sits up, turning to look behind him and in the corners. There, in the pale neon light coming in from the window, he sees a face streaked in red and white.

A breath of relief escapes him. “Ryan,” he says, “you scared me, Jesus.”

He releases the gun, draws his hands to his face to scrub at his eyes, and when he opens them again, Ryan is closer, at the edge of the bed. He’s just watching, and there’s a hardness in his blue eyes that Jon doesn’t know that well yet. Usually, Ryan leaves work at work.

But standing in front of him, Jon has no doubt that _this_ , this tense line of imposing man, is the Vagabond.

There _have_ been a few times that Ryan’s come home like this – dark, brooding, dangerous. Usually he keeps his distance from Jon, usually he takes a shower or follows Jon around the house like a particularly frightening puppy until he can shake it off and become _Ryan_ again. Never like this, though, never still wearing the face paint or the dark clothes, hair still tied up out of his face so that he can work.

“What happened?” Jon asks quietly. He doesn’t really expect an answer, though, and he doesn’t get one, just the intense gaze of the Vagabond on him.

And he understands why people are scared of this, but to him… he knows he’s perfectly safe. Ryan, and by extension, the Vagabond, would never hurt him. Would die for him. Would, and more than likely has, killed for him.

Jon reaches for the string on the lamp on the nightstand with a yawn, hoping that maybe stepping into the light literally will bring Ryan back to it figuratively.

“Leave it off.”

And Jon’s heard the Vagabond speak before, short, clipped sentences that get across a basic message, but he’s never heard it like _that_ – low, rough, so much like Ryan and yet different all the same. He pauses, eyes shooting up to Ryan’s, before he slowly pulls his hand back to his lap, not sure that he quite wants to disobey that voice.

Then the Vagabond is dropping to the bed, looking for all the world like an apex predator, like the top of the food chain, like he knows he’s about to get exactly what he wants. And sometimes, Ryan wears that face, but in a different way – the Vagabond is pure predator, stalking forward.

He gets a hand on Jon’s chest and pushes him down, flat to the bed, and Jon goes easily. He knows that he’s the prey in this situation, can feel it in the way that his heart is hammering in his chest, in the slight tremble of his fingertips. He can also feel it in the way that his cock hardens in his boxers.

The Vagabond wraps his gloved hands around Jon’s wrists, pulling them above his head and pressing them to the pillow, like a warning – leave them there, or else. Jon gives a little nod in understanding, not sure if he’s really allowed to speak, if it would break the sort of spell that they’re under.

And then there’s a hand cupping his cheek, and he’s being pulled into a dirty, possessive kiss, and Jon’s brain gives up on analyzing this. If this is what Ryan needs, then Jon will give it to him, any way that he can. The Vagabond pulls away, presses the hard line of his body against Jon’s, and it occurs to Jon that he’s practically naked, the only thing he’s wearing being his boxers. Ryan, however, is still fully dressed in black and leather.

 _He’s still wearing his leather gloves_ , Jon thinks, and the little sound that escapes him is practically inhuman.

The Vagabond pauses, barely centimeters from Jon’s face, like he’s hesitating, like he isn’t sure if that’s a good sound or a bad sound. When Jon doesn’t move, though, just stares back at him, waiting for him to do something, he drops his head to Jon’s neck, and nips at the skin there, harder than usual, hard enough that there will be marks tomorrow morning for Jon to hide.

Now, he seems to accept that the noises and little gasps escaping Jon are purely pleasure.

One of his hands, the one that had still been curled around Jon’s wrists, drifts down to grip his chin instead, shifting Jon’s head for him so that Ryan can have more room, more skin to mark.

Jon tentatively rolls his hips up, gets himself a little friction. This is normally where Ryan would smirk or chuckle at him, but the Vagabond just releases his chin to pin his hips to the bed instead, leather-clad fingers curling in the waistband of Jon’s boxers and inching them down.

“You want me to stop, I’ll stop,” the Vagabond says, and it’s the closest to Ryan’s voice that he’s come so far.

“I _want_ you to fuck me,” Jon breathes in response, and gets an amused breath blown out across his neck in return.

The Vagabond sits back, sheds his leather jacket to reveal the muscles underneath his t-shirt that Jon knows and loves. Now, instead of just being hot, they’re also dangerous – these arms can hold Jon down, they can take what they want. To Jon’s relief, he leaves the gloves on.

Jon drops his hands, reaches for Ryan again, but Ryan freezes, blue eyes intense on Jon.

“I have handcuffs,” the Vagabond finally says, and it sounds like a threat if Jon’s ever heard one. “Do I need them?”

Slowly, Jon raises his arms again, and grips the pillow. Apparently, this is all the Vagabond’s show.

Ryan, seemingly satisfied for the moment, goes back to getting Jon’s boxers off of his hips, pulling them down and tossing them away. He gives Jon a couple of pulls on his cock, enough that Jon is arching and rolling his hips, tangling his hands together to keep them above his head, and then he flips Jon over like Jon weighs nothing at all.

With a couple of shoves – and Jesus, but Ryan’s never manhandled him like this before and Jon is nearly beside himself with how fucking _good_ it is – Jon gets his knees under him. And then, he blushes, because the way he’s situated, he’s practically presenting himself, practically offering himself up (which, to be fair, he is).

There’s no real foreplay, just the quiet sounds of, Jon assumes, Ryan getting undressed. And then Ryan is back on the bed, naked body pressed against Jon’s in a way that’s intimately familiar and vastly different than ever before. Jon watches as one of Ryan’s naked hands reaches for the nightstand drawer, rifling through for the lube they keep there, and he shivers in anticipation.

He doesn’t know if it’s the quiet, or if it’s the hour, or if it’s the way that Ryan isn’t really _Ryan_ right now, but Jon is _desperate_ , wants the Vagabond in him _now_.

A hand smoothes down his back, as if to soothe him, and Jon can hear the click of the lube cap. Then, there’s a finger pressing up against his hole, and Jesus H. Christ, Ryan _kept a glove on_.

“Ryan,” Jon breathes out, not even sure he’s really supposed to be talking.

The Vagabond stretches him slowly, until Jon doesn’t care that he’s trying to be quiet, until Jon’s voice is coming steadily through whimpers and pleas. There’s a hand on the back of his neck keeping him in place while Ryan finger-fucks him, dragging the tip of his index across Jon’s prostrate, apparently just to listen to the desperate plea and the way Jon’s voice hikes higher.

“Please,” Jon pants out. His arms are down by his head again, and so far, Vagabond’s not threatened the cuffs so he thinks he’s okay. “Please, come on, fuck me.”

The Vagabond pulls his fingers away, much to Jon’s dismay, curling his gloved hand around Jon’s hip. Jon can feel the bed shift as he does, and then finally, the head of Ryan’s cock against his hole. Jon lets out a high pitched keen as Ryan slowly, slowly presses in.

“Ryan,” Jon says again as Ryan bottoms out, and the name escapes him like a goddamn prayer. The hand on the back of his neck slides up, tangles in Jon’s hair, pulls his head back until Jon’s curling his fingers into the sheets while Ryan rolls his hips steadily.

“Shh,” the Vagabond says, presses a biting kiss to Jon’s shoulder.

Then he really starts fucking into Jon, holding Jon in place with one hand in his hair and one hand on his hip, and God, they’ve fucked hard but never like _this_. Never where Jon feels like he has to hold on or he’ll fly away, never where it feels like _Ryan_ is the desperate one, but Jon can feel it bleeding through between them, a desperation that he’s never recognized before.

He reaches one hand down, can feel the pressure of an orgasm building, but the Vagabond’s hand tightens in his hair. “Don’t touch,” he says, and Jon’s fingers find the sheet again, even as a whine escapes him.

“Please, Ryan,” Jon tries, as Ryan’s given into begging before. He has a feeling, though, that the Vagabond will be significantly harder to crack.

“What’s my name?”

And that stops Jon, because he’d just said it, hadn’t he? But maybe that’s not the answer he’s looking for, maybe it’s something else that Ryan needs to hear.

“ _Vagabond_ ,” Jon breathes.

Ryan practically wrenches his hand from Jon’s hair, pushing him down into the bed instead, and Jon doesn’t feel like he’s just getting fucked anymore, he’s getting goddamn _taken_ , fucking _ravaged_ , and he thinks, for a second, that he’s about to come without a hand ever touching his cock.

Then Ryan – no, this is the goddamned Vagabond – reaches around and gets that leather-clad hand around Jon’s dick and Jon is _gone_ , soaring, checking out, absolutely done.

Ryan gets gentler after that, fucking into Jon like he knows he’s oversensitive, but Jon’s always loved this, always loved Ryan pushing him a little farther than he’s really comfortable with. When Ryan comes, it’s with a harsh intake of breath, hands tightening on Jon’s skin, and the feeling of a hot rush inside of him.

Then, Ryan’s maneuvering them both, and it’s always amazed Jon that Ryan can fucking function after an orgasm because Jon just kind of stops moving. They wind up with Jon’s head on Ryan’s chest, and Jon floats for a little bit, basking in the afterglow and the feeling of Ryan’s thumb rubbing circles into his hip.

“You back with me?” Jon asks after a few moments, tilting his head to look up at Ryan.

Yep, those are the eyes that Jon knows, soft and blue, even with the face paint still on. Ryan opens his mouth, looking apologetic, but Jon beats him to it.

“Don’t say you’re sorry, because I’m sure as hell not,” Jon says quickly. “Just… what brought this _on_ , you never bring work home like this.”

Ryan’s hand tightens on Jon’s hip briefly, eyes flashing like he just remembered exactly what happened. “There was… Gavin got an email. He’s working on tracing it, figuring out who the fuck sent it so I can…” Ryan clears his throat. “There was a picture of you. Just a picture. You were walking to your car, on the phone, with a coffee in your hand, so it wasn’t like it was a surveillance shot. Someone’s watching you.”

And Jon can read all of the implications there. He swallows. “Someone’s linked me to you.”

“We’re not exactly subtle,” Ryan points out, and yeah, that’s true, but it’s still disconcerting. “So, Gavin’s going to trace it, and I’ll go make my point, and it’ll be fine.”

Jon nods, curls up against Ryan’s side. “You won’t let anything happen to me. You _or_ the Vagabond.”

“I am the Vagabond,” Ryan mutters, sounding slightly confused.

Jon yawns. “Talk later, sleep now.”

And maybe there’s someone after him, but Jon knows without a doubt that with Ryan in the room, no one will get close enough to lay a hand on Jon. He’s safe here.


End file.
